The In-between
by Maryam25
Summary: A look at Han and Gisele and their evolving relationship. It is set after the end of Fast 5 (with the odd flashback/reference to the movie itself) and ends at the beginning of Fast 6. It's rather long for a one-shot, but I had trouble trying to figure out where to split it up. I think it flows better if read together, all at once. I hope it isn't too too bad, enjoy!


_Hey guys! I wrote this story during the summer, after I watched the latest movie (which just broke my heart, why couldn't it just end with 5? That's a discussion for another day) It's a little long, but once I started it, my pen just took over. I hope I did these two characters some justice. Enjoy_

_Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters or the Fast and Furious movie franchise. I'm simply enabling my riculously over-active imagination._

**THE IN-BETWEEN**

It's been five months since they pulled off the heist in Rio.

That _one last job_ that brought them all together–a band of friends, an unconventional family. But a family all the same.

He remembers it as though it were yesterday.

Things changed in Rio–he was met with a few unexpected surprises. He doesn't complain. The heist –the city–they led him straight to _her_.

And yeah, she has a great body–if they're little excursion to the beach taught him anything, it's _that–_and exotic features that only add to her appeal, but this isn't new to Han. He has seen more than his fair share of long legs and pretty faces.

So it's not her physical splendour that reels him in. No, that isn't what does it for him.

When she pulls the Jericho 941 on Roman, he knows immediately–from her quick reflexes and fluid movements, from her natural ease and predatory grace–that she's done it one too many times before.

He'll realize this later: the motorcycle, the leather, the combat boots–she's not just bad-ass, but a soldier to the core.

She's vigilant–her senses keen–always aware of her surroundings. After all, 'some habits die hard', as Brian says. She _even_ picks up on a thing or two that he seems to miss. And there are very few people who can make that claim. Han is nothing if not perceptive.

It's one thing to see her threaten to pull the trigger.

(The look on Rome's face, in response to her proposition? _Priceless_).

It's something entirely different when she gets behind the wheel of the Nissan 3702 and takes it for a test drive on their mock track.

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He thinks back–more often than not–trying to pinpoint the exact moment he fell for her. And though he remembers whispering something to himself after watching her expertly manoeuvre the vehicle around the warehouse, a part of him knows that she pulled him in–hook, line and sinker–right from the start.

At first, he came to respect her–she never backed down from a challenge; always one to take charge of a situation. Then he began to admire her–she was never afraid to be straight with him, always telling it to him like it was.

And then, well the rest is somewhat of a blur–a haze of developing feelings, a muddle of wordless exchanges and lazy afternoons.

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When Tej places the acetate with the image of Reyes' handprint on the scanner, the warehouse falls silent.

_This _is the moment they've been waiting for.

There's the sound of a click–the alignment of gears, the disengaging of a lock. A sound that means everything has fallen into place. A sound that could mean it was all for nothing.

_No, not nothing_, Han amends.

Tej twists the six-spoke handle of the safe and the 7' by 12' door–the block of metallic monstrosity–falls open, bundles of bills tumbling to the floor.

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If you had asked him–in that moment–what he felt, he wouldn't have known what to say. Sure, he was relieved to see the safe sitting wide open, stuffed to the brim with was supposed to be one hundred million dollars. But this was never really about the money. Not for Han, at least. Something that his father used to say has stuck with him over the years: _sic transit gloria mundi_.

_Thus passes worldly glory_.

Han came to appreciate the meaning of this statement from an early age. Even when he's had the money, he's always been searching for something more…something intangible.

So when he comes to Rio, it's for the adventure and the thrill. And for the adrenaline rush–that distinctive high–when he's behind the wheel, effortlessly shifting gears and doing the unthinkable–the undoable.

And, he isn't one to say no when an old friend calls.

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He feels her eyes on him; the heat from her gaze penetrating the side of his face. He turns his head to get a look at her, but she's already back to shaking her head and laughing, watching the scene before them. He hears hoots and cheers around him and pays no attention to the smart-ass comment Roman's about to make. To his left, Santos is stunned into silence, his negative attitude a thing of the past. Next to him, unable to contain his excitement, Leo's incoherently mumbling something in Spanish.

He chances another look at Gisele. She smiles at him–her features uncharacteristically shy–and then raising a single eyebrow, she issues a challenge; silently asking him a question, daring him to accept.

_What do you say?_

_The possibilities are endless._

_Adventure after adventure._

_You._

_Me._

…

_Us._

He counters with an eyebrow raise of his own, accepting her proposal.

A silent understanding passes between them and it is decided.

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With the job officially complete, they find no reason to linger in the warehouse that's been a quasi-home to them for the last while. Bags are being packed, arrangements being made. Thanks to the US Diplomatic Security Service, certain places are off-limits–no can dos.

He casually tells Dom that he and Gisele will be leaving the city together, doing some travelling–like it's nothing out of the ordinary. Dom nods his head and gives him a pat on the back, a knowing look in his eyes.

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They spend some time in Europe. Madrid gives them a chance to practice their Spanish–she's a little rusty and the language app on his phone can only teach him so much. But it's the beaches of Ibiza that allow them a temporary reprieve. Waking up to the sound of the waves lapping at the sand along the water's edge; watching the sunsets together on the beach–it's almost like a dream. It almost feels like it could be home.

Almost.

They leave Spain after a month's time, not allowing themselves to get too attached–not affording their minds time to wander.

She once mentioned Berlin in a conversation they had, soon after they'd met.

He brings it up one evening, as a possible option, ultimately leaving it up to her. He can't say that he isn't surprised when she captures his lips in a kiss, fingers threading lazily through his hair.

That's when he realizes she likes playing with his hair; her fingers somehow always finding their way into the dark strands.

He changes his mind about the hair cut.

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Three days later they're standing in the arrivals terminal of Tegel Airport, having left the sands and water of Spain behind. They're a young couple, excited to see the world. They–rather, she–has no trouble at all convincing airport security of this. He lets her do most of the talking, answering questions only when directly asked.

It's one of those 'don't send a man to do a woman's job' moments, he figures

He simply watches her work her charm.

They're slightly more touristically inclined in Berlin. They do some sightseeing, visiting the site of the great wall that had once completely blocked off the city's East from its Western counterpart. They buy a disposable camera, taking pictures here and there–with the monument of Goethe and Schiller in Weimar, next to the Brandenburg Gate.

After all, it's the _tourist_ thing to do.

They even take a few days to explore the city's Jewish history. This is done mostly in silence. Sometimes she'll search out his hand, entwining their fingers. And he'll return the gesture with a gentle squeeze. Other times he'll give her some space, letting her wander off lost in thought, but never losing sight of her in the crowd.

Where the Spaniards were light-hearted and loquacious, they find the Germans to be seemingly rigid and to some extent, more reserved.

Han makes the mistake of attempting to call a shopkeeper his friend in hopes that the older man will warm up to them. Dictionary be damned–apparently he insinuates that they're more than just pals. Let's just say they don't stick around for the man to kick them out.

When Gisele learns that Han has never really learned to ride a motorcycle, she decides that the situation needs to be rectified immediately. As with most things, he picks it up almost instantly. Driving on the autobahn is one thing–definitely a gratifying experience–but riding, it's a whole other ball game. Hearing the cars–feeling them–as they whir by at ridiculously high speeds that would make any normal person's head spin; it's something he can't quite articulate.

There aren't really any words.

The two of them sit on their bikes, beginning the next leg of their journey–unbeknownst to them–their race against time.

Somehow they end up in Amsterdam.

One night she wakes up to an empty bed. She first realizes that he's gone when she feels the sudden loss of heat. She turns to see his imprint still fresh in the mattress. Wrapping their satin sheet around herself, she makes her way to the terrace.

He's leaning against the railingof the balcony, taking in the night sky. She sees a freshly-tossed chip bag on the small folding table.

She crosses the threshold, bridging the gap between them and comes to stand next to him, her form leaning against the side of his arm. Her warm breath is a welcome sensation on his cold skin.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Her voice is raspy, sleep-ridden.

He turns his head so their gazes meet.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

She reaches out, moving a few strands of unruly hair out of his face, trying to get a read on him.

"I was thinking we could get out of here," he finally lets out, "I don't know, head further east, Hong Kong maybe."

It's been four months since they've left Rio and not once has he brought up Tokyo. She doesn't ask him about it either. She figures that he'll tell her–eventually, when he's ready.

It dawns on her then, that she's allowed herself to think about a future with Han. She doesn't dwell on these thoughts further though; now is not the time.

The silence between them is not awkward–it never is–it simply gives each of them a minute or two to digest, reflect, decide.

She manoeuvres herself so that she is now standing between him and the ledge, her back to the city. His arms come to rest on her hips, fingers tickling the exposed skin above her waistband.

She sees the goose bumps decorating his shoulders, his bare chest–the hairs standing on end.

She leans in close.

"Hong Kong sounds interesting."

She raises an eyebrow and wraps the sheet around them, pulling him even nearer. He moves just a little closer–not leaving any space between their bodies–nose meeting hers.

They stand in comfortable reticence, each one soaking up the other, relishing in their proximity.

She's the first to speak, opting to discuss a lighter subject.

"So what should we get for Mia and Brian's baby?"

Her eyes soften at the mention of the new addition to their family.

"Hmm…let's see, what to get for a baby who probably has everything?" he plays pensive.

He has something in mind, but it will have to wait–until later, at least.

"How about we sleep now and do all things baby O'Connor in the morning."

She just nods her head, letting out a girlish giggle when he picks her up and marches them back into the room and straight to bed.

"I better not be alone the next time I open my eyes."

Her words are light; playful–but he doesn't miss the seriousness of the expression in her eyes.

"Yes ma'am," he replies into her skin.

Han falls asleep to the even sounds of Gisele's breathing. She waits for him to drift off and only then does she let sleep take her.

Two weeks later they receive a letter–and a wallet-sized photo–signed by baby O'Connorhimself, thanking them for their _thoughtful_ gift. At the bottom of the page is the smallest handprint either of them has ever see and under it are two words: Paul O'Connor.

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Roman leaves them a message on Han's cell. They're sitting on the hotel bed, listening to the voicemail, the phone on loudspeaker lying between them.

_My brother, how you been? We heard you was playin' a game of musical cities. Good for you two man. I hope you and miss lovely thang are havin' a good time, if you know what I mean…aaahaa, oh yeah! Wishin' you the best._

_What? Nah, shut up man, I ain't askin' 'em that. Ask yourself._

They hear someone making kissing noises in the background and then Tej's voice can be heard asking for the phone.

_Gech yo hands off ma phone, that's not cool man. Anyways guys, we sendin' on our love._

_Is he slappin' that ass or– _

Before Tej can continue, the phone is disconnected. It's safe to say they _both_ know what he was asking before he was interrupted.

Gisele thinks it's fair to say–in response to Tej's query–Han's doing a little bit of both.

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She confirms the trip to Hong Kong with him before she books the tickets.

Han makes only one suggestion.

That's how they end up spending the almost twelve hour flight enjoying the comfort of first class accommodations.

He tells her to close her eyes and get some sleep. She tries to resist, saying that she's not tired, but in the end the fatigue eventually takes over.

He watches her; he doesn't know for how long–he loses track of time. She's fallen asleep with her lips slightly parted, a few strands of hair in her face, her hand resting on his thigh. As he follows the movement of her chest–rising and falling, rising and falling–some of his anxiety, some of his tension begins to dissipate. He feels good about Hong Kong. Feels good about taking this next step–with _her_.

This trip–he reflects–will bring him closer to Tokyo. He's not ready for _that_ journey just yet. But soon he will be. They both will. He can _feel _it.

What was once a remote possibility–a future unknown–is now a palpable pursuit, almost within reach.

He feels the shadow before it falls over him. He looks up to find a smiling flight attendant holding out a blanket, pointing to his sleeping companion.

He returns her smile and accepts the plastic package with a nod of his head. He opens up the blanket and arranges it over Gisele, careful not to rouse her.

Looking up at the screen in front of him, he sees that they still have quite a bit of time before they land. A few hours of shut eye will do him some good.

He closes his eyes and is swept up in thoughts of dark hair and doe-eyes, of mocha-tinted complexions and childish laughter.

A part of _her_. A part of _him_. These images, lately they creep up on him, from time to time.

The words of the woman they'd met at a café in Amsterdam come back to him, playing in his head over and over again:

"_Such a lovely pair you two make. And just thinking about it, your children will be exquisite, truly!"_

_Neither of them had made much of it then. They had simply smiled at the older woman–Gisele had whispered a thank you–and continued walking to their table._

"Exquisite," he muses in his current state of semi-consciousness.

"Just like their mother."

Gisele will later tell him that he was out like a light, looking rather _exquisite_. Then she'll wink at him. They won't address her use of the word or what warranted it, simply letting it linger between them.

In that moment, Han will realize that they're both on the same page.

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It's been five months since they pulled off the heist in Rio.

_That_ is when they get Dom's call.

He puts the phone to his ear, letting out a confused, "Hello."

It all makes sense when he hears the voice on the other end of the line–however unexpected it may be. It can only mean one thing really.

They don't make much small talk–it's not how they are–Dom gets straight to the point. He does most of the talking. Han simply listens, offering a word here and there to assure that he's still following.

From the way his shoulders tense and then slightly relax and the serious look–the dawning of understanding–in his eyes, Gisele easily figures out the identity of the caller.

Her suspicions of why are confirmed when he passes her the phone.

She greets Dom with a bold remark; he can hear the smirk in her voice. He appreciates her effort to lighten the mood. But then the grin fades; is replaced with a stern expression as she listens to him speak. She nods her head and catches Han's stare–his gaze questioning, his eyebrow raised.

'What do you think?' he's silently asking.

"I've always wondered about Buckingham Palace," she responds with a smile, that familiar twinkle in her eye.

The next morning they're on the first flight out of Hong Kong.

_This_ is where their story changes. Where their paths diverge. And though they leave for London together, only one of them will return.

Alone.

_Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think, good or bad. Cheers :)_


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